48 48' 17 N, 44 35' 09 E
by josmi1351
Summary: It's been almost a year since the Battle of New York, and STRIKE Team: Delta hasn't had more than a few days off. Worn out and needing a break, Fury gives Natasha a week off. Clint has been in Sarajevo working on an infiltration case for SHIELD. Things start to go in a different direction though when Natasha learns Clint's no longer where SHIELD had tracked him to be.
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is the first part of a longer story that I've been trying to write for a while, and I think I've finally got the plot line where I want it to go so here it is. To add a bit of clarity for the time line, the story takes place after IM3, but before Thor: The Dark World. Please review and give me some feedback whether you like it so far or not (it really helps) and most of all enjoy!**

In the months following the Battle of New York, Natasha hadn't had much time off. In reality, the Avengers as a whole hadn't had more than a few days off. When they weren't on a team mission, Fury had Natasha flying all over the globe as she resumed her normal duties as a SHIELD agent. She never begrudged the work. One of SHIELD's top field agents, she was now at the point where she could choose missions that were to her liking. Some days Fury gave her specific jobs that needed done, but more often than not he gave her a long leash with only protocols to abide by.

If there was one thing Natasha resented about the heavy work load though, it was the lack of STRIKE Team: Delta. There were numerous times Clint had been sent on solo missions and she was used to it, but working with the archer made the work more bearable. Since New York, Fury had been cautious around Clint. At first Clint had only been allowed to work with the other Avengers, and although he never said it, Natasha knew Fury lost trust in the agent that day Loki entered his mind. There was something unnerving about having one of your best agents tell an enemy god the hideous secrets and information about your own team.

Slowly, Clint had been put back in the field and given solo missions. They weren't anything difficult, level 4 and 5, but Clint treated them with just as much importance as any other mission Fury had assigned him. Last Natasha had heard Clint had been working in Sarajevo. Fury had sent him to recover some files from the 40's on the tesseract, which had recently been copied and given to some scientists who were trying to explain the events of New York and New Mexico.

As Natasha drove the Corvette Stingray away from the Triskelion, she felt as though the weeks' vacation Fury had given her was not worth it. She was certain Clint wasn't back yet, and she couldn't imagine spending a whole week at the Tower without her partner there making jokes and keeping the air in the room light.

The four hour drive up the I-95 from D.C. to New York would give Natasha time to think. She didn't want to see everyone at the Tower in light of recent events, but also didn't want to spend the week holed up in the apartment if Clint wasn't there to talk to her. Normally she would have spent the week relaxing and trying to act like a normal civilian with Clint, but seeing as he was still away, she couldn't bring herself to go about the same routine by herself.

After stopping in at a little café in Philly for a sandwich, Natasha took back to the road, only this time deciding to take the scenic route along the coast. She was in no particular rush to get home. Driving along through picturesque towns with the smell of salt water might just clear her head after all.

* * *

><p>The familiar sound of turning the key in the old lock was soothing. Too often now Natasha was used to scanning and beeping that came with the security system in the safe houses she and Clint had set up. This was the only place Natasha ever stayed that had the simply lock and key, with a bolt on the back of the door, security system.<p>

As Natasha entered the room, she was surprised to find the air in the apartment musty and stagnant. She'd been gone for over a month, and thought Clint had only left a few days ago, but he must have left shortly after her. If they both knew they were going to be away for great lengths of time, they'd often crack a window to let the air circulate. By the looks of things though, Clint had expected not only for her to be back earlier, but for him to be returning as well.

Sighing in relief, Natasha dropped her bag on the couch before going around opening windows. For a late Febuary day, the air was warm and dry. Maybe once she'd showered and settled in she'd go for a walk in the park. The fresh air tended to help put her mind at ease.

With a gentle breeze coming through the apartment, Natasha idly began putting everything away. The apartment looked lived in for sure, but not unkempt. Books and magazines were on the coffee table, a blanket was left unfolded on the couch. Ignoring pile of half fletched arrows on the dining table, the flat looked completely normal, almost completing the lie that Natasha and Clint worked for some investment company that involved frequent business trips.

God, sometimes she hated all the lies. All the lies and how easily the skill came to her. She and Clint were now at the point where there were seldom any secrets between them, which made Natasha a little calmer. She knew that coming so clean to someone was dangerous, but she was long past the point of questioning Clint; she trusted him with her life countless times, the least she could do was the same for him. The other Avengers though, they barely even knew Natasha, and yet they still wanted her on the team. She barely trusted them, but trust would come with time. All she could hope right now is that they don't do anything to question her life and morals-or what was left of them.

A hot shower and fresh clothes brightened Natasha's mood enough to go for a walk in the park. She wasn't worried about anyone recognising her-she wasn't well known anyways-so decided to forgo the perimeter checks and gun. With such a warm day, Natasha simply wore old jeans with a light jacket and boots. Sunglasses were needed partly because it was such a beautiful day, but also just in case someone did recognise her. There were thousands of red-heads in New York, but Natasha had the ability to draw eyes, particularly when they were least wanted.

Natasha was in the center of the park, sitting on a bench in Belvedere Castle with a coffee in her hand, when her phone began to ring. She pulled out the battered Blackberry, a gift from Clint a few years back, and looked at the number. No name appeared on the screen. **011 36 1.** She'd seen that area code before. Budapest, Hungary. Out of curiosity more than anything, Natasha decided to answer the call.

"Who's this?" her voice polite, yet with a questionably defensive tone that anyone receiving a call from an unknown number would have.

"Tasha?" the connection wasn't the best, but Natasha knew that voice.

"Clint! Where are you? Fury said you were in Sarajevo last time you checked in."

The voice on the other end chuckled. "Yeah it's me. Been trailing this guy for almost an month and he's not exactly staying still."

Natasha grinned, even though Clint couldn't see it. She quickly looked around and upon seeing a few eyes drifting in her direction, decided to move to a more private area.

"Are you any closer to getting the file?"

"Managed to get it tonight- this morning for you. Just have to tidy a few things up at the safe house. Where've you been?"

"Just got back from California. Fury called for some assistance with the aftermath of Stark's latest adventure."

Clint's sigh was audible on Natasha's end of the line. "Right, sorta forgot about the whole Mandarin thing. How's Stark doing."

Natasha paused for a few seconds, trying to figure out the best answer. "Better." She thought that was probably the most honest answer she could give. Last she heard of Tony, he was rambling about seeing a physiatrist, in which the same sentence Bruce's name was mentioned. Banner wasn't that sort of doctor, but when it came to PSTD he possibly had the best ways of dealing with it.

It seemed like Natasha and Clint talked over the shaky line for hours, although Natasha knew the conversation lasted less than five minutes. It wasn't a normal thing for either one of them to call each other when on a mission, but Natasha was never angry either way. To hear Clint's voice was like music to her ears, but she of all people knew that it was hard to not only find a secure line but actually have time to make a personal call during a mission.

"When are you flying home?"

Natasha swore she could feel Clint shrug all the way in Budapest. "Not really sure. Fury still needs to give me the location of the plane and the other stuff. Probably won't be back for a few days. Why?"

Natasha's heart dropped a little but she didn't allow her voice to falter. "Fury gave me the week off. I don't really see the point in going to the Tower, it's not like I'm going to enjoy myself there anyways."

Clint openly laughed on the other end of the line. He knew how much she hated Stark some days, and reconsidered abandoning the whole avengers' initiative. Clint believed the only reason she didn't back out now was because Coulson wouldn't have wanted to see the team fall apart. Natasha was made a SHEILD agent because of the man; she didn't want to destroy his dreams simply because she didn't like the names Stark gave her.

"Hey Tasha," Clint's voice became soft and caring once again. "I'll be home soon alright? Just don't kill any of them until I get there."

Natasha smiled. The line had become a running joke between the two assassins.

"Fine but if you don't get here within four days, I'm starting the Science Bros mission without you."

Another laugh and a quick goodbye, the line went dead. Natasha didn't look at the phone as she lowered it from her ear and slipped it into her pocket. She couldn't stand being in the park any longer, and decided to head back home. The coffee in her hands was long cold, and after the conversation with Clint, she was desperately in need of another.

The assassin tossed the paper cup into a bin nearby and began to make her way out of the castle and back to the main road. The sun was setting quickly now, bringing the usual crispness which came with the February air.

Once back in the heated apartment, Natasha took her shoes off by the door before proceeding to hang up her jacket in the closet. She never retrieves the old phone from the pocket she had so hastily tucked it into. If she had, Natasha would have seen the text Clint had sent minutes before he had called. The message which only contained a set of coordinates.


	2. Chapter 2

Four days past and still no sign of Clint. Natasha tried to stay positive-she'd been delayed days sometimes because SHIELD refused to pick her up immediately-but it got harder with each hour. She was expecting Clint to arrive through the door any moment, or at least get a call from SHIELD reporting that he'd landed in Washington. Nothing though; not even an update from Hill regarding Clint's location.

Natasha had tried to keep herself busy and her mind occupied. She kept up her off-time training schedule and let herself sleep late in the mornings. She went for walks in the park, and took care of jobs and reminders she had been meaning to do for the last few months. Lacking her shadow though, Natasha found it hard to go about normal life. Clint had made acting normal easier, and was the one who first helped her ease into American society.

In the early hours of the fifth day though, the increasingly loud beeping from the SHIELD phone woke Natasha up from what had been a considerably nice rest. The assassin expected there to simply be a message about a new job to take care of, or news from Clint. Instead, she found Fury waiting on the line. Puzzled and expecting the worse, Natasha forced herself completely awake and answered the phone.

"Agent Romanoff."

"We need you to come in. We've lost Barton." The director's voice was a replica of the one he had used when Natasha had learned Clint had been compromised by Loki.

"What happened?"

"There's too much to explain right now. There's helicopter waiting for you in the park that'll go up to the helicarrier."

Natasha didn't really respond, but murmured something like 'okay' and hung up the phone. All of Natasha's worse nightmares had just come true. As she fumbled around the apartment, getting clothes and weapons on, her mind started to unravel. Clint had almost completely been returned to normal. Within a few weeks of Loki leaving, the fear and flashbacks had left Clint's mind, and the old memories had been returned. The last panic attacks, which were now virtually inexistent, had occurred before Natasha had left for California.

Three minutes, which Natasha considered slow, was the time it took her from getting Fury's message and climbing into the helicopter in Central Park. Natasha was happy to see Maria Hill at the controls, with no other agents to speak of inside the small helicopter.

"Maria," Natasha smiled and hopped into the co-pilot seat. Hill just nodded and started up the engine again. Natasha set her bag in the storage space below the seat before putting on the earmuffs and headset that was hanging from a cord.

Whatever was going on right now must have set Fury over the edge because Hill hadn't mentioned a single thing about Barton yet. Instead, she tried to distract Natasha with news of Tony and the other avengers, along with thoughts of having a girl's night. Natasha played along, but nothing could distract the Black Widow when she had her mind on a mission.

***.

Natasha didn't even bother going to her room in the helicarrier once she arrived. Instead, she marched right to the main control center, where she knew Fury would be waiting. Waving her card at the scanner, the door opened quickly and suddenly all eyes in the room were on her, expect Fury's that is.

The director was standing between the two displays-the ones Tony had disliked-focused on something that was being projected up from one. He didn't even turn when Natasha entered the room, but he defiantly noticed her presence.

"Where is he?" Natasha's voice was loud, overpowering the white noise that was predominant the helicarrier. Unable to really focus right now, Natasha was tired of the games Fury or any of the other agents would have played. All Natasha wanted was information so she could get off the damn helicarrier and find Clint.

Fury closed down the projection he was reading and opened another one; a detailed map of Eastern Europe. There were a few red dots on the map, with the biggest one being in Budapest.

"Last time Agent Barton checked in, he was on a train to Budapest to finish the trade." Fury pulled his hands apart to focus in on Budapest and the surrounding area. "He made the drop point and left the files, where we later picked them up. There was a rendezvous set for 12 hours after the drop. Barton never showed up to the first or the second."

Natasha was rooted where she stood. Clint had never missed getting the connection back, and even if he had, they had created a plan to retrieve the other. Natasha had been anxious before getting to the helicarrier. Now she was worried.

Fury continued on once he sensed Natasha wasn't going to say anything. "We've had Stark hack into the track on his suit, but nothing's turned up. The last location Stark can find is where Barton made the drop, and search teams tell us he's nowhere in the area, or in Budapest for the matter."

The projection was closed down and Fury turned around to face Natasha. The assassin's face was blank. She was trying her best not to let anything show. Fury sighed and sat down in the commander's chair.

"When did you last have contact with Barton?"

Natasha cleared her voice faintly before speaking. "Five days, Sir. He called from a line somewhere in Budapest, saying he was going to make the drop and then get a team to pick him up."

Natasha couldn't think of anything else to say. The conversation between them had sounded so normal, exactly like every phone call they'd made from a mission. She never thought that would be the last time she heard from Clint before he disappeared. It all seemed surreal.

Fury didn't have much to say really. He knew as little about Clint's location as Natasha did. He gave Natasha a file to read while she waited for her quinjet to be prepped and went back to the screens, trying to get more information on Barton. Natasha left the control deck as quickly as she entered, and now with a file in hand, headed to her room to suit up.

Suit on, equipped with her normal Glocks and assortment of knifes, Natasha headed up to the top deck, where her quinjet would now be waiting. As she approached, the mechanics stepped away from the plane, giving her a quick nod to assure her that everything was good.

Once in the plane, Natasha found she was happy to be alone. Sure, other field agents would be helping, but Fury had given her this and didn't force her to work with another team. Fury's only demand was that she report directly to himself to Agent Hill.

Natasha dropped her bag in the co-pilot seat before letting her body fall into the familiarity of the pilot's seat. The assassin began flipping the necessary switches and buttons to start the plane. The engines came to life while she started buckling in and getting the headset in the right position. Just as she was about to move the plane onto the runway, Natasha felt something awkward in her pocket. She fumbled around, trying to get the pocket to a reachable area. Finally once she did, she unzipped the pocket and pulled out the old Blackberry. Natasha had forgotten that she'd left the phone in the jacket.

Out of curiosity, she unlocked the phone, which surprisingly still had a good charge left, to check if Clint had called her. No missed calls appeared on the screen. Instead, a message came up, from the same Budapest number Clint had called her from. All the messaged contained were a set of coordinates. Natasha immediately typed them into the plane's GPS system.

With a slight frown, Natasha pulled the plane out onto the runaway and prepared for takeoff.

_.

"Change in plans Fury," Natasha voice came over the intercom in the director's office. Fury looked up from the pile of paper work to see Hill's eyes, which had equally the same amount of fear in them. "I'm going home."

Fury and Hill both rose simultaneously from the desk, to stare out the windows of the helicarrier as Natasha's quinjet took off in the opposite direction she was supposed to.


	3. Chapter 3

**So, I know it's been a while since the last update, and thank you to the people who are still interested and reading this, but things got bad and I couldn't write. Because of what's happened, I've decided to tweak the plot a bit. Everything that's happened in previous chapters still stands as it is. Nothing major has changed, more just details and the timeline. This part is short, mostly fluff, but it needs to be in here in order to make sense of the next part. Please review and give me some feedback...it makes writing so much easier. Enjoy!**

"Sir," Hill's voice broke Fury's concentration. "Do we pursue Romanoff?"

Fury shook his head and sat back down at his desk. He didn't have time for this right now. "Just track the plane and we'll send someone to her location when she finally decides to land."

The room was silent for a minute before Agent Hill groaned. Fury looked up just in time to see her throw her tablet at the wall. He had paid Stark good money to make those. "She turned the tracker off didn't she?"

A grumble was the initial answer, and Fury thought she was done, but Hill decided to elaborate. "Not only has she turned off the tracker, but she's also cloaked the plane and shut down any means of us to find her. Satellites, SHIELD, radio waves, even Stark."

Yes, Fury had been pissed off that Romanoff had taken the mission, and then decides to do her own thing, but he was used to it. When she was with Barton, the whole scene was so familiar that Fury didn't bother to actually care. The only difference between then and now was the tracker system. He and Barton had come to somewhat of an accord that Fury would tolerate the agents as long as he could find them when needed. And Natasha had just broken that agreement.

"Sir, what do we do now?"

Fury was downright pissed off now. "Call Stark. We need eyes right now."

* * *

><p>Natasha had to admit, she didn't like flying by herself. She was used to being in the co-pilot's chair with Clint beside her at the controls. Having him there helped pass the time, while also giving her a sense of security. Although it had never happened and likely never would, Natasha was afraid of falling asleep at the stick, causing the jet to plummet to the ground.<p>

Once a little above cruising altitude, Natasha locked the coordinates into the system and set the plane. Without having to hear anyone coming over the radio, Natasha turned off the communication systems, replacing the white noise with satellite radio stations. She ended up listening to every station during the 18 hour flight. Natasha was easily bored. Most stations played the same songs over and over, which Natasha hated with a deep and unforgiving passion.

She tried every hour to contact Clint, but to no avail. Each time she was answered with the same lifeless tone, indicating the line was long dead. The Budapest number was also strangely disconnected. With every call Natasha became more and more anxious. She didn't like being in the dark.

When Natasha entered into Russian Airspace she began to relax a little, allowing herself to flip the radio stations to the Russian ones she would listen to growing up. Actually, she didn't listen to the radio much growing up-the red room censored any information she ever received-but she did listen to it when she had graduated and taken on her own missions. Listening to the radio had helped her adjust into society better and distracted her mind from the hit count that she kept constantly in her head.

It wasn't long before the GPS system begun to beep, indicating that Natasha was approaching her destination. Natasha began to descend to a lower altitude, where she could look for a safe area to land. She couldn't put the plane into the local airport as that would mean turning on the location systems, and she didn't dare land at the military base. One thing Russians generally disapproved of was unwanted personal landing at their military locations.

Natasha decided to simply land in one of the empty factory parking lots. The cloaking device was still enabled, so she didn't worry about anyone seeing the plane. Being a few miles from the centre of town also ensured that no one would run into the plane walking down the street. She and Clint had once done that, forgot where they'd left the quinjet. While walking around the field trying to find it, Clint had run into the wing and fallen to the ground. Natasha had laughed, but it also pointed out the flaws in the design that once something hit the jet, the cloaking feature was turned off. Since then, she always made habit to remember where the plane was, and park it in a discreet place.

Slowly, the plane lowered from the sky. Natasha let out a sigh of relief when she heard the eerie but familiar groan of the landing gears absorbing the weight of the plane. She quickly shut the engines off, unfastened the safety harness, and begun to gather her things.

Natasha knew she would look suspicious walking around in her suit, with loaded weapons clearly visible. She wanted to feel secure, having the weapons within her reach. At the same time though, this wasn't a full attack mission, at least not yet. The suit would attract unwanted eyes, and if Clint was being held somewhere, it would act like a neon sign at an open bar. Natasha decided to put the jeans and sweatshirt she had worn last night back on. Small weapons could still be concealed in pockets, and her Glock would fit comfortable between the waist of her jeans and her back.

Before leaving the plane, Natasha grabbed the heavy down winter jacket and fur hat that were waiting in her bag. Before leaving the helicarrier, she had stopped in her small room to pick the items up. The temperature gauge in the plane had said -10C, which was warm for early February, but compared to the warm air in New York, -10 would feel chilly.

After checking that she had everything she could possibly need for a few days, Natasha lowered the door and walked out into the frosty Russian air. She clicked for the door to close again, waited for the signal that the plane was lockdown, and stuffed the key card into her pocket. Planes could be made invisible now, yet one still needed a key to open the door.

With a grim face and determination in every stride, Natasha walked away from the plane and out into the empty streets. She fixed the duffle bag's position on her shoulder, and pulled the fur hat down to cover more of her ears. The assassin didn't have to walk far before she began to recognize streets and buildings.

**с приездом Natalia Romanova.**


	4. Chapter 4

The echoes from knocking on the door rang through the hallway and lingered for a moment before disappearing. Natasha suddenly felt very small in the hallway, which was only a few feet wide with a low ceiling. Even though it was a familiar action, the assassin still felt vulnerable standing by herself. A commotion on the opposite side of the door made her jump a little. She managed to calm herself just before the door opened.

"Natalia?"

Natasha smiled and nodded at the woman who had opened the door. She was short, about 70 and wearing a heavy housecoat. Her hair was cut short so that when it curled, the curls formed a few inches off her scalp. It was earlier in the morning, but Natasha knew the woman would have been awake earlier.

The smile on the old woman's face was priceless, identical to the one a person would have when they see someone for the first time in many years. But that was exactly the event that was happening right now.

"Come in," the woman said opening the door fully. "You've grown up."

Now comfortable in her surroundings, Natasha slipped back into her old Russian accent and way of speaking. "It's been over ten years Gran. You've changed a lot too."

Both the woman and Natasha laughed. It felt good to be back. Natasha took her coat off and passed it to the woman, trading her for a pair of slippers. She kept her bag with her as she followed the woman into the kitchen where pots were currently boiling on the stove.

"You must have found something you liked." The woman scuttled about the kitchen, taking tea cups from the cupboard and filling them with boiling water. She had the persona of a mouse preparing for winter.

Natasha didn't really know how to respond. She had an odd relationship with the woman.

"I found a new job, a better one this time. Been travelling around the world and whatnot."

A huff was all the woman let out before placing a hot cup in Natasha's hands and ushering her back to the main room where the news was on television. The only noise in the room came from the TV. Natasha was finally able to sit down and let her mind comprehend where she was right now.

When Natasha had graduated from the Black Widow program, she'd immediately started working for the red room and later the KGB. After she'd learned the truth about the red room and her past though, Natasha had searched for a connection to home in attempts to remember. She'd found old woman, who had been good friends with her parents, even looking after Natasha when she was younger, by going through Russian databases and tenant files. It had taken work, but she'd found her. The best part was that the old woman had actually remembered her.

Being reunited had had its ups and downs. Scared and with every guard up, Natasha had been reluctant to tell the family friend, who she had called Gran when she was younger, that she was an assassin. So, she decided to tell a mixture of lies and the truth. Lies are easy to break apart, but the moment truth is included, it becomes harder to draw the line and separate the two. As far as Gran knew, Natalie had been sent away for school and found a job working for the Russian government. At first the cover had simply been to protect herself, but as Natasha thought more about the matter, she realised she had been ashamed of what she'd become.

When Clint had picked her up and taken her to SHIELD, she quickly realised that Natalia Romanova could not be part of her new life. If she was going to turn her life around, then the only way she could do it was to leave ever part of her old life behind. In all honesty, Natasha was glad she was able to start a new life. The only part she regretted was not telling the person who had cared for her what happened.

"Are you staying for any length of time Natalia, or are you going to leave me again?"

Natasha was caught off guard. Again. In the last 48 hours, it seemed to be happening more frequently and with a higher strength. The assassin didn't have an answer for the woman. She had no idea what she was even doing in Volgograd anyways. Maybe it was the possibility of finding Clint her that had drawn her in, or the idea of coming home for the first time in forever. Maybe she just simply didn't want to help Fury on this one, that she could find Clint without agents scouring the globe.

"I'll be here for a few days, but then I've got to go back to work." Natasha's voice was calm as she swirled the coffee around in the cup. "A friend was maybe going to come by, but I'm not so sure he will now."

(Page break)

Once she had settled into the guest room of Gran's apartment, Natasha bundled up again and went back down to the streets. She loved her honorary grandmother, but she had already begun asking questions Natasha wanted no part in answering. Leaving now would buy Natasha more time to come up with answers.

The streets around the apartment complex hadn't changed much in ten years. Coffee shops had a new coat of paint or name, while the same man sold newspapers at the corner. The building wasn't in the slums of Volgograd, but it wasn't in the newest parts either. There were spots where a building once stood, long empty since the bombing in the war. This was one of the only parts of the city that hadn't been levelled during the war. Even though the streets were her home, they now cast an eerie shadow over the assassin's shoulders.

What had started out as a walk to clear her head overtime became a mapping mission. Even though Natasha knew the streets well, they had changed and the maps in her head had become fuzzy in some areas. Walking gave her time to repaint some areas and keep her distracted from her real mission.

She didn't expect to find Clint walking down the streets or drinking coffee in a little café along the riverbank. It wouldn't be that simple. No, she expected a few days from now receiving another text with another location, where she was bound to find Clint in a basement chained to a chair. That was how it always was. Some things rarely changed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Two updates in two days... I am back. Shoutout to sailorraven34, Jade Cardiff, Black Betty and SlippedHalo8186 for reviewing along the way. (You're amazing and I really appreciate the feedback.) Also thank you to everyone who's still reading and keeping up with the story.**

**Things are starting to pick up now in the storyline. As a heads up, most of the time Natasha is speaking now, she is using Russian. I'll clarify otherwise. Translations will be provided for some Russian in the text if it's important..I'm hoping you get the idea of it without translations in some cases. **

**Enjoy!**

Tony Stark could push a person's buttons. If someone had a button, the man could find it. Fury had just never known one man to push another's all at the same time. And today, Fury was that man.

"So," Stark popped another grape into his mouth while playing with the projections. "What you're saying is that you've not only lost one of your pets, but you can't even track him. And to top that cake off, you can't even find your own plane."

Fury let his head fall onto his desk. It had been a long day, and Stark wasn't making it any easier. "You already know as much as we do here. Just find Romanoff."

It had been less than an hour since Stark had landed on the helicarrier, but to Fury and just about every Agent on the ship, it had felt like days. Hill had already left, declaring she had more important things to attend to, which left Fury to deal with the billionaire on his own. And now here they were an hour later, and still no lead on Romanoff.

"What did she say to exactly, apart from the general 'Fuck off Director' line?"

Fury glared at Tony as he mindlessly flipped through maps and files on Romanoff and Barton. Yes, Natasha hadn't been the nicest to him during her departure, but he never took it personally.

Unable to take any more comments from Stark, Fury got up from the desk and made his way to where Tony was standing at the holograph.

"All we know is that she was flying to Budapest, where Barton's last contact was. During takeoff, she changed her course and decided she was going home. After that we lost contact with the plane and haven't been able to pick it up again. That's why you're here." Fury closed down the map Tony had up and opened another file, one which only he and a few other people had access to.

"When Barton first brought Romanoff in, we had her Coulson put together a file with her. Basic information, history and the sorts nothing special. She gave her year of birth, but not the place."

"Run her voice through Jarvis to find the area," Tony suggested.

Fury shook his head. "We already had people do it when we first picked her up. Nothing comes up. She's pretty much eliminated her history, including her accent. The point is, we don't even know where she meant by home."

Tony laughed and popped another grape into his mouth. "If there's one thing I've learned from Red, it's that you won't find her until she wants you to. Give me the lab and I'll have something."

Stark walked towards the door, still clutching is bag of grapes. He passed the key card over the door and the glass slid open. As he walked out, Stark shouted at the Director over his shoulder.

"Hey just making sure, but you've checked her apartment right? I mean, it would be pretty embarrassing to go into this whole lock down mode if she's sitting on her couch with Barton."

* * *

><p>Natasha fell onto the couch, her legs stretched out on the soft carpet. She was tired, partly from walking around for hours, but also from not sleeping for 48 hours. The assassin was close to running on autopilot, where caffeine and sugar kept her alive.<p>

The sound of boiling water and dishes clashing woke Natasha up from her dazed trance. She shouldn't let her mind wander so much right now. So instead of falling asleep on the couch like she normally would have, the tired assassin heaved herself up from the couch and to the kitchen, where her dinner was being served onto a plate.

"Did you have a good walk?" Gran asked, sliding Natasha her plate across the table. The woman had the ability to read a person like an open book. It was challenging for Natasha to have her guard up the entire time.

So instead of actually talking, Natasha simply nodded her head and began eating the pork rassolnik that had been set before her. It had been a long time since Natasha had eaten homemade Russian cuisine. Clint had tried his best to make some of her favourite dishes, but they were never the same as when her Gran made them.

"You aren't here just to visit, Natalia. I know that face." The woman's voice had the haunting tone Maria Hill had when she and Natasha had discussed Coulson. It was the same tone that the Red Room had used to talk to Natasha when she was younger. A tone where one would feel exposed and needed the speaker to feel comfortable again. Each person that had spoken to Natasha had used it for a different purpose; the Red Room for control; Maria for comfort and trust; Gran for the honest truth.

Natasha had to lie, it was the only way to protect her right now from the past lies she'd told and what the future might bring for her. The only real issue Natasha had was whether to tell a complete lie, or part of the truth like she always did.

With a sad smile, Natasha shook her head_. __Просьба__Поверьте__мне_. "I'm supposed to meet a friend here. I'm not exactly sure when; we just agreed to meet in Volgograd if anything were to happen. So I just need to wait until I hear from him. The whole matter's just been a little rougher than I would've appreciated."

The older woman seemed to accept the lie for now, though Natasha wasn't sure how long it would stand for. If things went the way Natasha hoped, she wouldn't be around to see it begin to crack and fall apart.

The woman's voice returned to its normal tone when she asked, "Who's the friend?"

_На__прошлой__неделе__. _

"Someone I met a work when I left Russia. He's basically part of my family now."

A sparkle appeared in the woman's eyes, to which Natasha responded by rolling her own green ones while letting out a huff and loud "нет".

* * *

><p>Clint stared at the concrete walls surrounding him. From looking around, he could definitely tell he was in some sort of electricalboiler room, but where exactly, he had no idea. His Russian was almost perfect, Nat had made sure of that, but right now his mind wasn't correctly focused.

_Think Barton, think. It can't be that hard. You were at the train station, and then you got off somewhere near Volgograd. The GPS was tracking the guy, and you were heading down the maintenance lines. The lights got fewer and far between, and this is where you ended up. Now get out of here before anything bad happens._

Clint fumbled at the doorknob to the room, which no longer seemed to be working. Either it was a one way door or someone was onto him. He looked around the room again, trying to come up with a new plan. Generally he didn't come up with the plans-Nat did. He was more the take action and see what happens type.

A glimmer of metal behind a shelve caught the archer's eye. Upon moving the heavy thing, Clint was pleased to find a vent cover, one which was easily removed used some nails he'd found in the room. The vent wasn't as wide as Clint hoped it would've been, but he'd been in some that were smaller.

As silently as possible, the nimble archer made his way through the opening and into the ventilation system. He had no idea where he was going, but he had a feeling at some point he would have to go up.

_Should 'a kept the some of the SHEILD stuff with me. Google sure would be nice right now…_

* * *

><p>Tony stood at one of the benches in the lab, facing the giant maps which were being projected on the walls. He held a cup of coffee in one hand, grapes in the other.<p>

"JARVIS."

"Yes Sir." The al's voice came loudly over the still room.

"Call the team up."

"Sir, Director Fury specifically instructed you not-"

"I know what Fury said, and personally I think he's wrong on this one. Send Banner everything we've got and the codes to get higher clearance levels so he can read the good stuff. Tell them Legolas and Red are playing hide and seek and refusing to come out this time."


	6. Chapter 6

**So...this part's longer than the others, mainly because things are moving now and more people are becoming involved in the search for our favourite assassins. Thank you to Black Betty, Guest, SlippedHalo8186 and sailorraven34 for reviewing- you're all amazing and nice people. And thank you to the silent readers (maybe you could make your thoughts know though, I really appreciate honest reviews).**

Bruce was practically running from lab to lab, trying to keep all the experiments under control. Tony had left quickly and like usual, not bothered to help Bruce clean up. They had both refused Pepper's demand to hire assistants. Assistants meant questions, questions meant frustration, and frustration usually ended in an explosion and lecture from Pepper.

So when Bruce did get the call from Tony via JARVIS, hell broke out naturally in the tower.

"What does he mean he's on the helicarrier? And what's this about Clint and Natasha refusing to give up their location?" Bruce was practically yelling at the Al as he ran around, trying to keep calm the best her could.

The Al was silent for a minute, obviously communicating back to Tony on the helicarrier. "Captain Rogers is coming over to have a meeting and gather the team."

"Great.", was all the scientist could get out at the moment.

* * *

><p>"So what you're telling us," Steve probed, "is that Clint's missing and Natasha's gone haywire."<p>

Tony had called Steve over and Bruce up from the labs to have a meeting, which was turning out to be more like a confrontation. Tony had connected one of the projection screens on the helicarrier to the screen in the living room. He was still working on the connection up to Thor.

"Don't forget about Fury not having any idea where they are," Bruce quipped before Tony spoke.

They'd been at this meeting now for over an hour, and the Science Bros plus the super soldier were getting nowhere. Tony had caught them off guard, Steve was confused beyond hope at first, and Bruce was really just tired of shit happening to the group.

After hearing Tony try and explain the tracking systems on the quinjet to Steve for the umpteenth time, Bruce had to interrupt. They were going to be here all day at this rate. "It doesn't matter how it really works right now. We just need to have some idea of where we're looking first. Sarajevo is a good start, but all we've reduced the map to is Eastern Europe. We need one or two countries if what Tony's suggesting is to work."

"Where are we supposed to find that out?" Steve's voice was tired, but his tongue was as sharp as ever. "It's not like either of them keep travel notes here. They haven't even been here in over a month!"

A flash of Tony's smile and soon a map shared the screen with the billionaire's face. "JARVIS found their apartment. You two just have to go over and search around until you find something."

"That's illegal."

"Look Spangley, it's not illegal if we have a key. So all you've got to do is say you have a key if anything were to happen-which it's not- and that you had permission to be there."

Steve still wasn't sold on the idea of breaking and entering into any house, yet alone a house where two assassins lived and knew where to find Steve at any time. Still, Bruce said it was their best chance at getting anything. Even better, he knew a way into the flat easily.

The drive to Central Park went by quickly and before Steve realised they were walking up the last flight of stairs to the flat where Clint and Natasha lived.

"How exactly are we getting in?" Steve asked, casually glancing around the hallway to hide his concern. He'd found way into plenty of places he shouldn't have been before. Somehow his teammate's personal apartment was different and mentally out of bounds.

Bruce just smiled as they approached the only door in the hall. When they stopped beside it, Bruce dug around in his pocket while explaining to Steve, "Clint gave me a key a while ago. Just as a 'if you ever need to get away from Stark for a few days, go and bunk at my place' thing really. It's been nice to have a security plan."

Steve nodded, surprised but not shocked. The marksman had a soft side, and genuinely cared about people. Obviously he like Bruce and wanted the man to be comfortable staying in New York again. Somehow Steve still had trouble grasping the concept of the assassin handing over a key to his personal apartment.

Sounds of the door unlocking brought Steve back from his thoughts, to where Bruce was now standing in front of an open door. A quick nod was all the man needed from Steve to step into the room.

"It all looks normal to me," Steve muttered, closing the door behind him. Bruce was ahead of him, already surveying the main room. Nothing appeared suspicious and out of the ordinary. Really, it didn't even look like the home of master assassins. People and Glamour magazines weren't generally an assassin's suggested reading material.

Bruce nodded in agreement while walking around the apartment. "Tony's going to be asking what we've got soon. Just try and look for something that gives some sort of idea where they are."

Steve was soon left alone in the main room while Bruce went to explore the other rooms. All Steve could really hope for was that neither Natasha no Clint would decide to come home now.

* * *

><p>Natasha couldn't sleep. Trying to sleep with Clint on her mind was like being a passenger in a car which was driving through a city at night. When you're in the heart of the city under the lights, it's impossible to sleep; even when you close your eyes light still penetrates your eyelids. As you move through the city the streetlamps become fewer, with the only light coming from car headlights. It becomes a bit easier to fall asleep, but as soon as cars come, you become once again blinded with light. Cars become fewer and fewer until there are barely any at all, and sleep comes easily. By this point though you're almost home and there is no longer much point in falling asleep.<p>

So when Natasha finally saw the sun streaming through the tiny window she decided to give up on sleeping get out of bed. The floor was cold as she walked around; searching for black slippers her Gran had lent her. Natasha quickly slipped on a robe before leaving the guestroom and heading off to the kitchen.

She was happy to find the room empty, with fresh sunlight shining through the window. Making coffee alone in the kitchen was a ritual for Natasha. Even thousands of miles from home she was still able to keep up her coffee routine.

_Home… I called this tiny flat home for a few months, just to try and bring my mind back. It almost worked. Living here though, it would have never worked out. I never would've been able to forget and relearn everything. Walking around under the city lights on a date, pretending I'd never killed a person in my life. I couldn't do it, even now._

It wasn't long before Gran waddled into kitchen, dressed almost identical to Natasha. She didn't even say hello; just walked to the coffee maker, poured herself a cup, and sat down at the table.

"You're up early."

Natasha shrugged and flipped the page of the morning newspaper. "I'm used to it."

"Humph."

The air was cold. Neither Natasha nor Gran were really morning people, though Natasha did handle the early hours much better.

"Are you going to meet your friend today?"

"Yes. I'm supposed to meet him in an hour or so at the old coffee shop on the river. Thought I'd show him around the nice parts of town."

"You'd better get ready soon then. It's a good walk down there, and you've never used the buses before."

Natasha laughed and stood up from the table, taking her dishes with her. "You know I've never liked them. Why should I start using them now?"

Gran's smile dropped a little as her voice became quieter. "Just be careful Tasha. Things have changed since you left."

"I think I can handle myself Gran. I'm not a child anymore."

* * *

><p><em>Light, daylight. That's a good sign. Closer…almost there…you're not tired yet…you've spent hours in vents before…this is just like ultimate testing…few more feet…<em>

Clint's eyes quickly scanned out the grate. _Blue skies and sunlight…captain we are on the roof. _Thankfully the screws came out easily and the archer was able to nimbly crawl out the small opening and tumble onto the loose gravel on the roof.

"Could've been worse," Clint mumbled as he stood up and dusted himself off.

Looking at his watch was a shock. Four hours. Four long hours he'd been crawling around in the ventilation system, carefully looking for a way out that would cause as little disturbance as possible.

He was happy to find himself still in the train station-or on the roof for that matter. He was in the middle of the building. How he'd managed to get from the maintenance line area to the very center of one of Russia's largest stations was a good question. No time to answer it really; he had to get out of the station before someone notice that he wasn't supposed to be there.

A roof access stairway, forgotten security card from a supplies closet and avoidance of security personal got the archer swiftly out of the building and into the streets of Volgograd. Clint would never describe it as a perfect escape, but it technically wasn't his worse.

Walking down the street, heading god-knows-where, Clint quickly realised he was lost. He had only the clothes he wore on his body right now, which was really only the jeans, sweater and leather jacket he had worn on the train; his bag was still at the station, though he didn't know where it had ended up. His cellphone was in that bag. Thankfully his wallet wasn't, but his main credit card was; as was the map of Eastern Europe and guide to major cities.

Grumbling and cursing in his mind only made Clint feel worse. He'd been left hung out to dry by SHEILD before- it came with not having an extraction plan- but this time he was completely in the dark. Even the tracker and GPS he had used on the man he was tailing were now dead, the chargers in his bag. Apparently the things had a 72 hour battery life. If Stark had made them the things would've been able to go for weeks without an issue. SHIELD was real cheap sometimes. Even the free pens they gave out at meeting ran out of ink within 10 minutes of writing. Not that Clint usually went to the meetings or wrote things down, but Coulson did and when the pens ran out, he use to give them to Clint to play with and keep the archer entertained. Junior agents were easily frightened by pens flying and skimming the tops of their ears.

Clint sighed as he kept walking down the street, passed old stone buildings and shops. He wished he could phone Coulson right now and get some advice. The man had been the best handler Clint could've ever to for.

_Coulson would've got a kick out of this one. "Hey Coulson I'm stuck in Russia and don't know what to do this time…no I'm not trying to pick up another assassin…you've got to admit though, she turned out pretty good._


	7. Chapter 7

Natasha walked along the riverbanks, past the friendly cafes and bookstores. For a midwinter day it was surprisingly warm; the sun shining through thin clouds, which were becoming fewer as time passed by. The nicer weather saw more people outside of the grey buildings; walking with each other or dogs, sitting outside of cafes instead of inside under the dim lights; talking to others as they strolled instead of bending their heads, bearing their eyes against the bitter wind. Days like this made Natasha miss living in Russia.

Turning off the main street, the assassin walked down a small side street. Other people might have questioned her coming this way, but she knew the area well. At the end of the street, where it joined other street was a coffee house. Nothing that claimed expensive taste, but not as dirty and run down as others.

A deep breath escaped Natasha as soon as she stepped into the coffee house. She loved the smell that came with coffee houses. Not the new ones, but the older ones. This one was her favourite. Nothing had changed much since she had last been here, all those years ago, but she doubted much had changed since the shop had first opened. The walls were painted the same colour they had always been; the wooden floor looking more worn in places than it had been, but the same floorboards nonetheless.

Natasha took off her coat and mittens, leaving them at a table by the window. She slipped a few banknotes into her pocket before heading to the counter to order. A short brunette came around through a door, carrying a tray stacked with used cups.

"Что вы хотите?" she asked, setting the tray down on a table before moving to the service counter.

Natasha smiled. "У вас есть кофе?"

The girl nodded before taking a mug from the rack and walking over to where a pot of coffee was currently brewing.

"молоком и с сахаром," Natasha told the girl when she looked back from the coffee machine. The waitress seemed unsurprised that Natasha knew ahead of time what her next question would be. Waitresses learned what the regulars took, at least the last girl here had. Every time the spy had come into the shop, the old woman who had worked here always brought her a coffee with milk and sugar, along with a piece of fresh pie.

A friendly smile appeared on the girl's face as she set the cup on the counter. "Сто рубль."

Natasha nodded and pulled a crumpled banknote from her pocket. Coffee prices had risen since she'd last been here. It was nice in a way though-she wouldn't have to break the banknotes now.

With a coffee in her hand, Natasha sat back down at the small window table. As she drank the steaming liquid she watched the people in the streets, analysing the ones that seemed interesting. It had become a bit of a game for her, trying to read body language and people's lips. Only she was too good at it now. The game had become old now, its fun fading away with the little imagination that Natasha had possessed.

Natasha sat in the café for most of the morning. It was warm in the corner and the waitress was nice enough to come by every hour and refill her mug. She had seen odd people walk by and people doing odd things in the street. One man, who she'd only caught a glimpse of, had looked particularly amusing.

He had been talking to another man, down the street far enough that Natasha couldn't see him distinct features. He had been wearing a coat, which although did look like a warm one, was obviously not made for Russian winters. The way he was waving his arms and frantically looking around suggested he was a tourist, with a weak grasp of the Russian culture and language. And for the poor man who had been stuck with the tourist, he looked equally frustrated and confused.

Eventually the man moved on, giving up on whatever it was he was hoping to achieve. Natasha almost felt sorry for the man. She knew firsthand how difficult adjusting to a new culture could be.

When the sun started shifting in the sky, the assassin put her coat and mittens back on ventured back onto the streets. She needed a change in scenery. Maybe if she kept moving she would eventually have an idea on how to find Clint. Because God, right now, she had no idea where to start.

-.

Clint had spent over ten years working on and perfecting his Russian. At first it was to try and help Natasha, but over time simply became part of his life. Natasha had even admitted to him that his grasp of the Russian language was natural, like he'd lived there his entire life. Yet here he was, in the middle of Russia, and he couldn't get the guy at the coffee shop to even help.

All he wanted was a cheap hotel- which didn't exactly exist in populated Russia- and somewhere he could get clothes. The coat which he had kept with him wasn't doing much to keep the cold wind out, and his boots were hardly snow worthy. To top it all off, he wanted one of those fur hats to keep his ears warm.

After ten minutes of talking to the coffee shop guy, Clint gave up, throwing his arms in the air and shouting, and stalked off down the street. He could probably find what he wanted on his own and get back to work as soon as possible. SHIELD wasn't exactly going into lockdown mode yet, and he was going to keep doing what he had come here to do.

The hotel which Clint originally found was nice, too nice for his taste in fact but it was close to the shopping district and had a nice brochure. He had originally just decided to take the room for the night, but after thinking it over; he went back to the concierge desk and booked it for the week. If nothing turned up within the week, he'd consider calling Fury for some assistance.

Once in the room, it was all Clint could do to not order all the food he could eat. To help draw his mind away from his growling stomach, Clint took a hot shower (which was in a very nice bathroom, well stocked with expensive soaps) before calling down for whatever the kitchen had on special.

After eating too much overpriced food and lounging around, the archer needed to get out. The obvious need right now was clothes and outerwear suitable for the harsh weather. But what he also needed was charging cords. If he could get the trackers running again, there was a good chance he would get a lead on what was going on, and the sooner he found that out the sooner he could go home and see Nat.

-.

A whole day had gone by and still nothing. Not in the tower, the flat, SHIELD's facilities or known safe houses. With little results, the team had become discouraged and angry. Generally things didn't progress anymore once someone got angry.

Steve and Tony were going at it, again. Bruce had actually lost track of what they were going on about this time, but it was all related in some way. Steve was team leader…Tony always tried to take control…take of the suit what are you...you at my container of shawarma and only left the salad…what are we even trying to accomplish here. And when Bruce really thought about the last question that came up an awful lot, he was starting to doubt himself.

At first, the answer had been simple; Clint and Natasha were clearly in trouble and needed help. As time went by though, it became more complicated. Bruce knew firsthand that if anyone ever ran into trouble, Clint would be the first to help. The archer had a big heart, although not many people actually saw the non-assassin side of his life. So Bruce was here because he was repaying a debt and doing what others would do for him. Then Bruce started to realise the sad truth of it all. The ticking time bomb that everyone loved to call 'Earth's Lightest Heroes' was all there was left. SHIELD was stuck; they'd reached the end of their rope and sent the distress signal. Tony responded, but even he couldn't do it on his own. So he'd called Bruce and Steve up to help, in the hopes that between the three of them a hint would be found. It was time for Bruce to face what life had thrown at him; the Avengers -or what was left of them –had failed.

That final thought was what broke Bruce down to his current state; curled up in a small ball in the corner of Tony's lab. He'd spent hours at the flat, then hours searching the tower, and finally hours searching databases and the internet for some lead. But nothing had turned up. Credit cards hadn't been used in obscure locations; notes hadn't been left on counters or scribbled on maps; telephone calls from foreign numbers or areas hadn't been made. It honestly looked like both assassins had simply vanished out of thin air.

"IGOTAHIT! I'VE GOT A HIT GUYS!"

Bruce's head whipped up, his eyes becoming fully alert at the sound of Stark's voice. Bruce searched for the man quickly in the room so that he could prepare for the celebration. Stark was currently jumping around and point at the computer in the far corner of lab. In a hurry, the doctor lurched to his feet before stumbling across the room to where Steve and Tony were happily gawking at screens.

"Where? And how did you even find it," Bruce stuttered, at an utter loss for words. "We've gone through everything for days…"

"Rainy day account," Tony cheeped like the happy five year old he could be. " 'Tracked back through family heritage and accounts. I'm not exactly sure where he got that much money, but that's not the point."

Tony quickly pulled up a series of maps and databases, all colour organised with certain values and pinpoints flashing. A few more pictures were added before the man started to explain the details.

"The account's been accessed before, not on regular bases but by the looks of it, it's mainly used for personal things. The key fact's that it's not in any SHIELD records. It's not even under his name, but again that's not important. Four hours ago $10,000 was withdrawn from the account at an ATM in Volgograd. There hasn't been any activity since."

Tony spun around to face the other two; a large grin was present on his face.

"So, you think he's in Russia?" Steve asked, leaning around Tony to look at the maps again.

"Volgograd to be exact, although you would probably remember it to be Stalingrad. Name changed a while ago."

Steve nodded and sat back down in the chair he had been previously napping in. The soldier was exhausted, and clearly knew sleep would be hard to get in the coming hours.

Bruce was still puzzled. Russia made sense, sort of. Clint been on an OP in Eastern Europe, and Russia was easily accessible by train from Budapest. But why he went there Bruce was really itching to ask.

"Why Volgograd though? If something went wrong on the mission or he wanted to take a leave, he should've ended up in Moscow or St. Petersburg. This is Barton's account right? I thought we were supposed to find Natasha and she would help us get to Barton."

Tony rolled his eyes and moved back to the screens. "Nothing was coming up for Red and there still isn't. Chances are if we find one, we find the other and it just so happened we got to Clint first."

"JARVIS," Tony yelled at the Al while simultaneously saving and closing maps on the screens. "Have one of the jets prepped and ready to go. Tell Pepper I'm not going to make the dinner tonight. If she asks, just tell her Red sent the distress signal but everything's fine now."

Tony continued talking to the Al, although it was more like babbling. Steve, while glad of the news, still had a grim look about his face. Bruce silently wanted to tell Steve that he too shared the same idea.

Steve sighed and started to walk away from the computer towards the elevator. "Better suit up Doctor. It's going to be a long flight."

-.

The market was busy; too busy for the archer's liking. People were standing in the narrow isles, gawking and talking to their friends. The escalators were jammed, with people queuing anxiously to get out of the way. They had even lowered themselves to using the stairs. Clint was being to lose the little patience he had left.

The men's department hadn't been too bad. Men were generally quicker at shopping then woman; he'd discovered that when shopping with Nat. Really though, there were less options for men. You had a few styles of shirts in a few different colours. Same idea applied to trousers and sweaters. Clint survived that section of the shopping experience. Nat always harassed him about his lack of interest and hatred for shopping. It wasn't that Clint hated shopping; it was that he generally didn't like people and being around a lot of people. Shopping centers were filled with people, especially around holidays. One of the many reasons Clint ordered gifts online for people who actually deserved them.

Appropriate winter shoes were the only thing left on Clint's list. He'd even picked up a duffle bag from the sporting department to carry everything around in. The floor that held all footwear departments had looked like hell, which was the main reason Clint had avoided it in the first place, but here he was now.

"Just a pair of fur boots," Clint muttered to himself as he squished pass a group of teenaged girls showing each other the latest trends. "How hard can it be to find black boots?"

With a bit more cursing under his breath and pushing past people, the archer finally made it to the winter footwear area.

"Big sizes and fur, that's what Google said…lots of socks and those squishy heating things…black will match that coat." Clint's eyes scanned over the boots displayed upon the wall. They were all pretty much the same, only differing in accessories and price.

"Fuck it." Clint finally gave in, pulling the closest boot from him off the wall. It was one of the more expensive types, but Clint would gladly pay to be warm. He searched the wall for a bigger size. Nothing was left.

_Now I've actually got to find a damn employee, if they even exist here._

People were everywhere, so Clint didn't exactly know where to start looking for a person to help. Eventually he did find someone, a short woman standing in a corner, helping an elderly woman try on shoes. Her hair was pinned up in an elaborate twist, with a black pin holding it in place. The woman seemed to be dressed like an employing, and certainly acting like one.

_That one, she looks helpful. The language is easy, just try to take away the accent like Nat taught you. Russian thoughts in three…two…one._

"Excuse me mam, do you have any more of these in a larger size?"

The woman finished speaking to the elderly one before turning around. "Sorry sir but I don't –Clint?"

Natasha. What in the hell was Natasha doing in the market, and with that elderly woman. What was Natasha doing in Volgograd? Had she received the message or was she simply on a mission? Shit, maybe Clint had screwed the mission up right now.

Clint tried to smile, but it was strained. So many thoughts were going through his mind right now, the majority of them negative. And here he was, still standing in the middle of the market holding a boot, looking at a truly confused assassin. Clint looked down at the boot, then back at Natasha.

"I'm still going to need a bigger size."


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed. You're all amazing. The story is drawing to a close...it should be done within a chapter (hopefully). Anyways, here's the next part (and it's longer). Sorry I didn't get it posted on the weekend, but I honestly hadn't finished as much as I had hoped to put in. Review, favourite, follow, whatever you want to do. Enjoy!**

Natasha followed Gran up through the door and into the living room. The woman simply had her purse on her shoulder, while Natasha was flooded with bags. She was used to it though, and didn't mind the extra work. Clint needed to get out of her mind.

"Who was the nice looking man at the store?" she asked Natasha while hanging up their jackets in the closet. "He looked to know you."

_You've prepared for this one. _"Oh, he was the friend I was supposed to meet. We just happened to bump into each other earlier than expected."

Natasha's voice was smooth, easily shrugging off the question. If she had her way, Gran would never know anything about neither Clint, nor Natasha's past and present life status. Everything seemed simple, maybe too simple, but elaborate stories were harder to keep in order and Gran would be the first person to pick up any overlap.

The subject of Clint was dropped for a while, though Natasha knew she would eventually have to deal with it. Cover stories were her expertise, but strangely enough it was harder to tell the same lies to someone she loved.

Natasha was setting the table for dinner when the subject was brought up again, but a little nicer this time. "Are you not inviting him over for dinner? You barely talked to him for five minutes in the market before you shooed him away. That's not how you were brought up."

Natasha rolled her eyes internally. _We seem to have very different ideas of how I was brought up._ She knew Gran was right –Clint was probably beside himself –but Natasha wouldn't give in that easily.

"I honestly didn't plan to invite him for dinner; he's probably already made arrangements. Besides, I was going to go down to the theatre tonight."

Natasha couldn't win. Gran always had a response to Natasha's reasons and was able to make the reasons sound pathetic. In Natasha's eyes they weren't pathetic, but she had to admit, they weren't strong either.

So within an hour of getting back to the flat, Natasha was back out in the streets, heading towards the hotel Clint was staying in. The sun was long gone, taking away with it allude of a warm winters day. Snow was starting to fall from the sky again. The small assassin trudged through the covered streets, grumbling with every step she took.

Once at the hotel, Natasha quickly found the right people she needed and was at Clint's room in a matter of minutes. She hadn't known the name Clint had booked under, but simply the room number. Thankfully it was enough to get her past the security guards at the elevator and up to the right floor.

Without knocking, Natasha opened and entered the tiny room. Clint kept the door locked –though locks couldn't keep Natasha out. Natasha was relieved to find Clint sitting curled up in the bed, watching whatever film was playing on the hotel TV station.

"You eat yet?" Natasha asked, slumping down on the bed beside Clint. It was a useless question; she could see a bag of Lay's sticking out from the blanket. "Never thought Red Caviar would be your first choice of flavours."

Clint shrugged and offered the bag to Natasha, to which she politely declined. She wasn't big on the popular favoured chips, although they were better than the original American ones.

"Where we going?" Clint was already beginning to untangle himself from the blankets. Natasha took it as a sign that the potato chips hadn't fulfilled his dietary needs.

Natasha got up and turned off the television. "Just a friend's place. She's making me invite you. Right now I'm being shamed for not inviting you when we were at the market."

The archer laughed as he gathered his coat and boots. He couldn't imagine anyone telling Nat off for forgetting her manners. Everyone he knew was at least slightly afraid of the Widow. Clint became a little quieter after thinking of this. Maybe he should be afraid to meet Natasha's friend. He'd never exactly heard of any of her "good friends", only the people she'd worked for.

"How long 'till we get there?" Clint asked as they left the room, making sure it to lock the door behind them.

Natasha pursed her lips. "Twenty if we hurry. You don't want to be in the cold streets at this hour anyways."

(page break)

Natasha reached out to turn the door handle. Before she opened it though, she turned back to face Clint, who looked equally as anxious as she did. "Ready?" Clint nodded and took a step towards the door, silently telling her to open it whenever she was ready.

Never had Natasha ever brought a friend home. For the months that she'd lived here as a teenager, never had she had the opportunity to invite someone for dinner. The thought of having a real boyfriend was pretty much a joke. She'd flirted and played many men to get what she needed, but the idea of having a serious relationship in the profession was almost obscene. Even now, boyfriend didn't seem like the right term for the relationship. Partner worked best, as it could be taken in whatever way was necessary.

Slowly Natasha opened the door and stepped into the warm apartment. "We're home Gran!"

_Gran? _Clint thought. O_kay, this might be bad._ He could hear an older woman's voice coming from another room. She was talking quickly in Russian, to which questions Natasha was responding to in the same language with ease. _Russian…so we're going with full Russian._

"Where is this Clint?" The old woman came out from around the corner into the main room, where Clint was now standing awkwardly by himself. Natasha had gone off to another room, something about finding him a pair of slippers. Thankfully she came back before Clint had to respond to the woman.

Natasha tossed Clint the slippers, which he caught with ease, before introducing them. "Gran, this is Clint. Clint, this is my friend. You can just call her Gran; it'll be easier that way." Clint knew it wouldn't be easier to call this woman "Gran" but for Natasha's sake he would. It was obvious Natasha was still hiding who this woman was.

Within a few minutes Clint was sitting down at the kitchen dinner. As usual, questions were thrown all over. He did his best to answer, though thankfully Natasha gave answers to some of the more difficult ones. Natasha had prepared answers to some –he could tell when she did this by the extra emotion in her face –and he didn't want to mess up her backstory.

Dinner was over just as fast as Clint was sat down at the table. The meal wasn't elaborate, and Gran didn't try to sugar-coat the event. Instead of staying at the wooden table, teas were distributed and the small party moved to the chairs in the main room.

"What brought you here Clint?" the old woman asked. She smiled, but the curiosity and desire to know more came through easily. "It's strange that Natalia comes home now, and with such a nice friend."

Clint's eyes became a little wider as he shook his head. "I was in the country for business. When I'd heard through a friend that Natalia was here as well, I caught a train from Moscow down. We haven't seen each other in a few weeks –just different schedules –so I thought it'd be a nice surprise to drop in."

Clint quickly looked to Natasha who nodded to assure the woman that this was the truth. The slight sideways look in Natasha's eye made Clint laugh. He knew what she was thinking right now. _Only 98% bullshit this time Nat, I promise. _

Time passed slowly; the woman had so many questions. Both agents were getting restless sitting for so long, neither of them wanting to be in the situations more than the other. If this had been a debriefing or meeting, Clint would have been shooting paper clips at junior agents or Hill right now with an elastic band. Instead, he was being the perfect agent, sitting quietly in the chair with a tea, making idle conversation.

Natasha couldn't take it any longer though. She was done.

The red head got up from her chair and headed off to the kitchen to wash her cup. When she was done, she came back through the main room before heading off to her own bedroom.

Gran craned her neck around to see where Natasha had gone. "What are you doing Natalia?" Her voice was demanding but soft.

It took Natasha a few seconds to respond. "I told you, I'm going down to the theatre. I'm looking for my bag; I know I left it here."

"Natalia," Gran was not impressed with Natasha's behaviour, "you have company over. You're not going down to the theatre tonight."

"Yes I am."

Natasha soon came stalking from her room, a black duffle bag thrown over her shoulder. "I told you before I went to get Clint that I was going down tonight. Clint can stay here, he can come with me, or I can give him instructions on how to get back to his hotel."

Flaring green eyes landed on Clint before he could really process the options. He most certainly didn't want to stay here, but he also didn't want to walk back and sit in the hotel room by himself. The theatre sounded like the best option, although he had no idea what Natasha was talking about.

Clint smiled and stood up from the chair. "Thank you for the offer but I think I'll go with Natalia to the theatre. The dinner was excellent though."

He could see that wasn't the answer Gran wanted, but she accepted it and moved on. "You're very welcome. And maybe if you're around for a while longer you'll come back."

Clint nodded and took his coat, which Natasha had brought to him. He wasn't sure how much longer he would be here –hopefully not much. Right now all he wanted to do was get into a familiar bed, with a familiar cup of coffee and Nat beside him, reminding him to take out the hearing aids.

"Where exactly are we going?" Clint asked as soon as they were out of the flat. He was at the mercy of Natasha right now. And the assassin didn't seem like she was in the best of moods right now.

Surprisingly, Natasha answered quickly and with a decent answer. "There's a theatre just down the street. It's left open to the public during the off days."

The archer simply nodded. There was no use in asking for any more details; he would soon find out what exactly was going on.

The theatre wasn't exactly what Clint thought it would be. He pictured something like a movie theatre, where old films were shown during the day and newest releases at night. This theatre was an actual theatre, with balconies and red velvet curtains. It was small though, along with old and run down. In its time, it was probably one of the nicest theatres, which by Clint's estimate was over 20 years ago. Dust collected on the majority of seats, while the curtains hung in the same position they had been left in all those years ago.

"You can sit down," Natasha's voice was quiet, but echoed with the nice acoustics. Clint could only imagine what the theatre would've been like, with live strings accompanying the dancers and actors on stage, while the people filed into the plush seats.

As Clint found one of the less dusty seats and sat down, he watched Natasha run up a flight of stairs by the stage and disappear behind the curtains. He felt like he was intruding on something right now. Still, he wanted to watch and witness what was about to come.

Clint was beginning to drift off into sleep when the stage lights came on. They weren't the brightest, but lit the stage well enough for what was needed. After the lights, the sound of a violin piano duet came over the speakers. Clint recognised it as the main theme from Swan Lake, one of the few songs Natasha played at home on rainy days. Not long after the music started, Natasha came out onto the stage, only it wasn't the Natasha Clint had come to know.

This was Natalia Romanova, one of the world's greatest assassins, who had grown up and thought to have been training at the Bolshoi Theatre. The memories were artificial, replacing those which were unpleasant, but that didn't mean that she had never learned ballet. Natasha had once told Clint of the training they went through in the Black Widow program. She still cited the dance lessons as some of the best training methods.

Dressed in the black leotard with matching pancake tutu, Natasha looked as though she belonged on the stage. The moment the music picked up again, Natasha was off, moving perfectly in time with each phrase. Clint couldn't explain it; she was perfect. Never had he thought he would see this, Natasha at home, doing something she clearly missed.

It seemed like Natasha danced for hours. As one song ended, another started and so did another dance. Clint couldn't believe how easily she was able to transition from one movement to another. He wondered whether Natasha knew each dance and had remembered it for all these years, or if she was simply making up the movements as she went.

Eventually the music ended, and so did Natasha. The lights started to dim as she left the stage –they must have been set to a timer –leaving Clint sitting in the dim theatre alone. He was still in amazement when Natasha came back to find him. He wanted to ask so many questions, but his mouth couldn't keep up with his mind.

"You…you've had your stuff with you this whole time?"

Natasha shook her head and pulled a sweater over the t-shirt she had thrown on. "They've been here; I didn't want them for the longest time. I just kept them in the closet so that when I did come back, I could come down here and practice. When you took me in I didn't really have a choice to gather my personal belongings –not that I had much or really wanted to."

Clint couldn't keep his head from spinning. Had he known Natasha was that good, he would've made sure she had whatever she needed to continue practicing. The only dancing she did really was for warming up and stretching. Even then, she only wore ballet slippers with a sweatshirt and tights; nothing like the elaborate costume she had just worn.

"Your stuff still fits though? It's not degenerated?" Clint asked as they moved towards the exit. "It's been over ten years Nat…"

The small dancer shrugged and reached into the bag, pulling out her pointe shoes. "They're breaking down." She tossed one to Clint so he could look while she explained. "The platform's too soft now, and the shank's losing stiffness."

Clint studied the shoe that was in his hand. He could see what Nat meant; even the satin on the toe box was wearing out, now to the point where there was a little hole.

"Well do you want a new pair then?" he asked, tossing the shoe back. "SHEILD card and all…we can write it off as training equipment…"

Natasha quickly shook her head and zipped the shoes back into the black bag. "It's not like I'll ever use them again. It's better that they get left here."

(page break)

The assassins walked into the hotel lobby, both carrying containers from a Chinese takeout shop they'd passed by. They hadn't talked much on the walk from the theatre to the hotel, due to the cold air coming from both the earth and Natasha. Things were getting warmer from Natasha, but Clint still felt as though he'd ruined her entire night.

"Why did you come here?" Natasha asked abruptly Clint opened the door to the hotel. He seemed to freeze for a second before holding the door for Natasha and answering.

"I could ask you the same, but I have an idea." Clint nodded towards the lounge in the centre of the lobby. If they sat down and talked, less attention would be drawn in their direction.

"I made the drop in Budapest. Our man was there, receiving more intel on another file, so we both agreed that it was easier to make the drop there. So I made the drop where we agreed, and stuck around to make sure it was successful. Our man came, and took the file, only he brought someone else. They were both SHIELD, but I got this weird feeling. They made a copy of the file, and then the men slit. The other guy had the same file, only those coordinates were stamped on the top. So I followed him here. He must've caught on; I lost him in the train station and because the trackers are down I have no idea where he went."

Natasha nodded and smiled. Leave it to Clint to send SHIELD into partial lockdown because he'd actually thought ahead for once.

"You said the other guy was SHEILD though, right? It's probably something Fury asked them to do."

The archer shrugged. "Guess it was just weird –Fury never said anything –and it didn't seem like the right time or place for the drop." Clint was obviously annoyed that he'd lost the man, though he tried his best to appear indifferent to the conversation. "There's no use in tracking him now."

Though she hated to leave a mission, Natasha couldn't agree more. If his equipment was dead and it had been as long as Clint said it had, the man was probably out of the country, removing any trackers he had found on his person. Had Natasha been in his place, she would've gotten out of the area as soon as possible.

"Can we go home then?"

Clint smiled and wrapped his hands around Natasha, drawing her closer to him. "Yeah, we can go home."


	9. Chapter 9

**Here it is, the final chapter. Thank you to everyone who's stuck with it, you're an amazing group of people, especially those who have commented along the way. Enjoy the very last part part of this story. I'll admit, writing this the way I picture the conversations going was probably one of the hardest things I've written so far, but I couldn't be prouder. So here we are...**

Steve stood patiently beside Bruce in line at the customs desk. They were both waiting for Tony to be cleared, although at the moment the chance of that actually happening seemed improbable. Never before had Steve met someone who could and would so easily pick fights. At the moment, the security guard at the desk was simply trying to find out why Tony was in the country. It was the basic question that everyone was asked. Yet, Tony had taken the challenge and was being an ignorant prick.

"Do you think we can just leave?" Bruce whispered in Steve's ear. He nodded towards the stack of bags by the exit and said, "Everything we need is in there. I don't want to spend the night in a Russian prison. It's not good for the Other Guy, you know?"

Steve understood what Bruce meant. If they stayed here and watched Tony, things were going to get ugly. Yet, he didn't want to leave the child superhero behind. Technically they needed Tony's password to start the plane when they were ready to go home.

With a quick nod of approve, Bruce calmly walked over to the bags, heaved them over his shoulders, and headed towards the exit. Once he was passed the final security guard, Steve walked over to where Tony was now threatening the customs clerk. Steve cleared his throat to get the clerk's attention before speaking to him.

"What seems to be the problem, Sir?"

The clerk looked tired; Steve could see it in the way his eyes fell onto the super solider. "Your friend here is refusing to disclose his purpose for visiting Russia, and now he is going onto threaten my job position."

_Really Tony, you brought this into it again. Isn't that statement "I could buy you" becoming a bit old? _ Steve rolled his eyes and smiled at the clerk. "He's here for the same reason we are, he's just being a prick about it. We're here for a holiday with a few friends from work."

The clerk obviously didn't like the answer, and knew it wasn't the truth. But by the growing line and expression on the man's face, he wasn't going to argue or bring more people into the matter. Instead, he took the heavy stamp, thrashed it into the ink pad, then onto Tony's passport.

"Have a nice time in Russia," he sighed.

Tony took the passport back with a smug smile. "Shall we go Spangley?"

* * *

><p>A few days had gone by before Natasha and Clint finally decided to leave Volgograd. Once Clint had decided to abandon the mission, he became a little more relaxed and willing to do things. Natasha had toured him around the city for a day, taking him to all the tourist places plus areas she loved. He learned a bit more about her childhood and life after the Red Room. Clint was willing to accept that Natasha had secrets he would never know, but that didn't mean he stopped appreciating when she'd share a tiny parts of her life with him.<p>

The night they finally decided to leave, Natasha left Clint to pack up and check out of the hotel while she went back to have a final meal with Gran.

"You're leaving again, aren't you?" the old woman sighed when Natasha entered the apartment. Neither she nor Clint had spoken of leaving around Gran, yet the woman was able to tell by the way Natasha walked.

Natasha tried to smile, she really did, but it was harder than she'd ever imagined. "Yes, I am." She didn't know what else to say. Goodbye had never been her thing; she avoided them whenever possible. Now she was confronted with one of the hardest she would have to make.

The assassin's voice was quiet, like she was afraid of the words that were forming in her mouth. "Don't expect me to come back; or give you a call; or an email. Just know that this is the last time. I never meant to come back in the first place. I was moving on, trying to have a new life; that's why I never called, or wrote, or tried to tell you I was safe. It was better that way, you knowing that I was gone, and not expecting me to return." Natasha could feel tears welling in her eyes. She blinked to make them disappear, but they quickly reappeared. "This is it."

Tears were welling in Gran's eyes as well, though she never let them fall down her cheek as Natasha was. She stood rooted in place for a few minutes before a small smile moulded across her lips. "I know Natasha. I know." Her voice was barely auditable as she crossed the small space between them. She wrapped her arms around Natasha's shoulders, bringing the small girl into her warm embrace.

Natasha felt foolish, crying in the arms of the woman. For once in a long time though, she felt safe. Not the safe she felt when Clint comforted her, but the safety that came from having someone who loved you hold and protect you. Gran was the only family Natasha had really known. Memories of her mother and father were growing fainter. Times likes these were the only memories she would soon have left.

So that's how the woman stayed for what seemed like hours; a mother cradling her wounded child. While this would never be her home again, Natasha knew she would always be able to come here, if not in person, in the memories she still had and would create.

Eventually Gran settled Natasha down on the couch while she heated soup and made a pot of tea. It was nothing elaborate, but it was a meal Natasha enjoyed and would remember. Simplicity was sometimes the best comfort. Gran didn't pressure Natasha to talk; if she wanted to, Natasha would have.

"I've got to head back," Natasha eventually said. Her voice was shaky and strained from crying over the last few hours. Hopefully by the time she made it back to the hotel, her appearance would be what it was when she originally left for dinner.

The touch of Gran's hands leading her to the door was soft on Natasha's pale skin. "Do you want to take anything with you?" the old woman asked. She was glancing over at the black duffle bag which still held Natasha's ballet things.

With a sniffle, Natasha shook her head and pulled her coat on. "It's better if I leave it. I'm trying to start over, remember? Besides, I haven't danced in years." She tried to smile as reassurance that she knew what she was doing. Gran seemed to accept the answer, but then dashed into the closet once again.

"What are you looking for?" Natasha asked curiously.

A few seconds later Gran reappeared at the door, holding a small box. "Take them," she said, thrusting the box into the girl's arms. "One day you'll be glad, trust me on this."

Curiosity drove Natasha's heart to open the box, but her instincts held her back. If she opened it now, she would probably regret doing so, and start crying again. She wouldn't let that happen.

Another hug and accompanied with words of goodbyes were exchanged before Natasha was finally able to open the door. Every muscle in her body froze when she first stepped out in the hallway. Instead of running back into the flat, she forced her legs to start moving down the hall. _Just don't look back._

"Natalia!" Gran's voice echoed down the hall. Natasha froze in her tracks again. _Don't look back, you've come so far. _Natasha took a deep breath and turned her head over her shoulders to look back. Gran was standing in the doorway; looking the exact same as when Natasha had first saw her days ago. "Once you lose someone, it's never the exactly same person who comes back."

Her voice was clear and soft, like water running over skin. Natasha didn't really know what to say; she couldn't agree with the thought more. Who would she be if she had stayed in Volgograd, never been caught by SHEILD, and had the fortune of falling into the hands of Clint and Coulson. Would she have kept working for the people she was at the time, or would she eventually turned her life around? Natasha hoped it would have been the second option, though she highly doubted that would've happened. In all truth, she should have been dead.

So, like she had done so many times before, Natasha smiled and kept walking down the hall. She didn't need to say anything; Gran would have understood every thought she had with that smile. The black box felt lighter in her arms with each step she took. Eventually, memories of Gran, her parents and her previous life would fade away, leaving Natasha with only the transcribed events on a sheet of paper. We will never see the world the same way, and closing the door on someone's chapter means committing it officially to memory — that it's no longer an organic, living thing. It is better that way.

* * *

><p>Natasha sat passenger seat of the in the quinjet. Clint had offered to pilot home, and Natasha was in no mood to argue. Between the two of them, Clint was the better flyer anyways. The sky had become his second home.<p>

The assassin's talked quietly for a few hours, no heavy conversations, just the kind of talk that two ordinary people would have. It was somewhere near the west coast of France though that Clint finally had to confront the Russian.

"What did you say?"

He didn't need to clarify anything; Natasha knew exactly what and who he was talking about.

She let out the breath of air that she hadn't realised she had been holding. "I told her I wasn't coming back. She doesn't need to know why. I couldn't do that to her."

Clint nodded silently. Although he'd never gone through the same experience, he'd been around the scene enough to know how Natasha felt. Too many funerals he'd attended for agents that he'd barely known. Yet, he still felt he'd needed to attend them because if everyone had the same initial thoughts that he had, no one would attend. Funerals weren't a happy thing; no matter how many times people had pushed to call them a "celebration of life".

"It's not easy Nat, but trust me that it's better. When you hear someone asking about their child, who you know died a while ago, it's not easy pretending that they're still alive."

"I know."

Clint felt a little better as a small smile crept across Natasha's face. Neither one of them liked not talking when a matter obviously needed to be discussed. He was glad Natasha was at ease now.

"Should we tell Fury where we were?" Clint asked a while latter. "Or are we just going to show up to work tomorrow like nothing ever happened?"

Both agents laughed. If they went in now or tomorrow morning, it wouldn't make a difference to Fury. He'd still haul them in for hours, giving them the typical lecture plus a few new remarks. Natasha was almost looking forward to seeing Clint worm his way out of whatever consequence Fury had planned.

"Tomorrow sounds better."

"My thoughts exactly."

* * *

><p>Natasha and Clint waited for the elevator door to open. When it did, they strolled into the lounge of Avenger's Tower, both still carrying their luggage.<p>

"We're back!" Clint called, waiting for Tony or someone to pop up from the couched. To their surprise, Pepper shot up from the couch.

"Are they with you?" she asked anxiously. Pepper came stalking towards them with a cup of coffee in hand.

Natasha and Clint both looked at each other, eyebrows raised. Where were the others and what were was Pepper going on about?

Clint took a quick look around the lounge before responding to Pepper's question. "Uh, Pep, where are they?"

For constantly having to look after Tony, Natasha honestly thought Pepper would be able to handle this better. Pepper had moved past the stage of anxiety and was now pissed off. Natasha had witnessed the pissed off Pepper attitude before, but never had she been on the opposing side.

Pepper did not yell at Natasha, her voice simply grew stronger with every syllable. "They went looking for you."

Natasha had no idea what Pepper was talking about, and she told her so. At no point had Steve or Tony tried to make contact with her –not that they would have any way to –and at no point did she ever think to ask them for help. Finding Clint had been her own mission, a mission which became very personal, and no right did Tony or Steve or anyone else for the matter to intrude and take over her mission. Before Natasha could shoot her thoughts back at Pepper, Clint stepped between the two women.

"Did you ever think to call Tony?" he asked, his voice dull and tired. Pepper nodded; of course she had. But Tony could be ignorant and refuse to pick up.

Clint rolled his eyes and walked across the lounge to the large TV. "Seriously, you couldn't get anyone to pick up? Did you tell Fury that he had five Avengers missing or were you just hoping that we all showed up in a few weeks?"

Of all the things Clint could have said, he chose that particular line. It had almost become a joke between her and Pepper. Every time they were left alone, it seemed as though the world was going to fall apart. A fire here, someone falling out a window there, what do you mean Tony's in the middle of the Pacific in a life raft. Banner had been right; they were a ticking time bomb. One which malfunctioned ever time it was reset.

Clint pressed a few buttons on the keypad and soon the TV sparked to life. Within a minute, the line was connecting.

Pepper suddenly became worried, asking Clint, "What did you do?"

The archer smiled and pointed at the keypad. "Hit the panic button. It goes right to Tony's monitors."

Both women couldn't believe it really. That button had been installed for specific purposes only, and this was definitely not one of those times.

Suddenly the screen lit up. Natasha had to stop herself from laughing when she saw the image. She could see Pepper trying to do the same, while Clint was bent over laughing uncontrollable.

"What the hell?" Tony's expression made the situation all the more humorous.

Tony was holding the projection screen in his hand, while Steve and Bruce leant over his shoulders. What was funny about the situation was how they were dressed. All men wore the heaviest, fluffiest parka's Natasha had ever seen. Large fur hats were also present, along with mittens and clunky boots. The three were so close together Natasha swore they had been cuddling to keep warm in the Russian streets.

"Why are you in my house?"

Clint finally managed to get himself together. "It's our house too. You assigned us floors. What are you doing in Russia?"

Steve spoke up before Tony could. "We were looking for you guys! Fury classified you as MIA and sent Tony to track you down. Why are you in New York?"

Natasha smiled and walked towards the screen so they would be able to see her better. "We came home last night." Her voice was cool, her stance telling them exactly what she thought of them tracking her down. "Vacation time was over. How are you enjoying Volgograd by the way? It gets pretty cold there when the sunset."

Both Bruce and Steve gave Tony their best death glare. "You said it would be warmer here," Bruce hissed. Natasha found great amusement in watching the boys bicker and fight, almost as if they were brothers.

"I fucked up," Tony hissed back, not moving his eyes from the screen.

"So are you guys comin' back or not?" Clint asked. "Russia's lovely but it would be a shame if Fury found out that you'd all skipped the next report for an unannounced vacation."

Clint could be evil sometimes. Natasha could see how he got the things he wanted; manipulation and sarcasm got him everything he could ever desire. Thankfully the boys bounced off each other. At first, threats like the once Clint had just made caused mini wars and tantrums. Now, they created pissed off stares and smiles.

Pepper disconnected the line before Clint or Tony could say anymore. Right now she had gotten what she wanted and nothing more. Natasha picked her bags up again and headed back to the elevator so she could drop her things off in her rooms. Clint joined her, wanting to rest until the others would be back.

* * *

><p>Once in the privacy of their floor, Natasha took the black box out of her bag and placed it on the table. She'd placed it in there as soon as they'd left in the quinjet. No one else needed to know of what had happened in Russia.<p>

"You going to open it?"

Natasha hadn't realised, but she'd been staring at the box. Not opening it or moving it, but just gazing, lost in the dwellings of her mind.

She gulped and reached out, "Now or never."

The lid came off easily, though it was clear that this box had been closed years ago. Natasha took a step forward. There were two packages inside, both wrapped in brown paper and held together with string. Cautiously, Natasha reached in and pulled out the first, a flat square. Slowly and with great care, she took the paper off.

"Who's in the photograph?" She felt Clint's head lean over her shoulder, his eyes watching her every movement.

Natasha cleared her throat and pulled the photographs apart. There were two. "My mother and father," Natasha blinked back tears. "Gran took that photo. We had gone out to the river. They died the next day." She forced her eyes to look at the other. "That's me and Gran when I came home. She'd taken me out to this nice dinner to celebrate."

Clint took the photographs from Natasha's hand so she could pick up the next package. As he studied the photos, he watched Natasha with one eye. She was starting to get shaky. _Common Nat, you can do this._

Her hands were ever so careful untying the larger package. It was larger than the other, but wrapped with the same delicacy. With half the paper off, Natasha set the package back down on the table and walked away.

"I can't do this," she whispered. Her shoulder's brushed past Clint, but he didn't turn to follow her. Instead, he moved forward to the table and finished taking off the paper. A pair of pointe shoes elegantly covered in black satin. The ribbons had already been fastened, though they were clearly new. Clint turned them over in his hands, admiring their beauty.

With a small smile on his face, Clint walked down the hall, still holding the shoes, to the bedroom where Natasha was seeking shelter. To say that Clint was scared of Natasha right now was untrue –though many people would be –he was scared for her. The only time he'd seen Natasha so vulnerable was when he'd first brought her in. He had hoped that he would never have to witness Natasha like that again.

"Nat," he said quietly, "it's going to be alright. It gets better, you know it does."

Natasha wanted to tell him everything, the story behind the shoes, the motives, why they were black, but most of all, why they were still in the package. She couldn't though, and she never would. Clint would never know that the shoes had been specialty ordered for her, that she was supposed to have them for the ballet, the ballet she was supposed to perform the day after the got back from the mission. The mission that she'd never completed.

So instead of telling him the truth, Natasha took the shoes from his hands and set them down on the window ledge. They were never meant to be worn.

"I know," she said. She stared out the window, across the New York skyline, out into the Atlantic. "Nothing lasts forever."


End file.
